Qonsequences
by Part E. Heart
Summary: **SKYFALL SPOILERS** After the events of Skyfall, Q travels to the wreckage to retrieve his gadgets, and is confronted by something he never wanted to see.


"If you want it back, Q, you'll have to get it yourself" Mallory had said to Q, all too smugly. It seemed that Bond, as he tended to do, had totally disregarded the needs and values of other people, and had abandoned his miniature radio in the wreckage of his old home, Skyfall. So, not wanting it to fall into the wrong hands, Q was intent on getting it back. However, he had hit a problem when, on Mallory's first day as 'M', Q went to visit him.

"Good morning, sir." Q said, attempting to sound polite and cheerful as he walked into Mallory's office.

"Hmm, busy morning, Q. Cleanup at Skyfall in full flow, I get appointed to a new job, it's my first morning, and now here you are." Mallory gestures to Q before turning his head towards some paperwork. "So I'm not really free for small-talk I'm afraid. What's the issue?" Mallory said. Q frowned. He wasn't used to confrontation, and he tensed and relaxed his hands into fists as he phrased his sentences carefully.

"Yes, well, umm, you see at the cleanup the team seem to have missed something. They brought back the gun, but the radio, it's still missing." Q says. There is a long pause as Mallory seems to have forgotten Q's existence entirely, his head buried in paperwork. However, just as Q was about to leave, the new M perked up.

"The radio? The little miniature one? You do know we made more than one, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, but I just don't want it to fall into the wrong hands."

"I know, I know, it's not the best thing to miss but it's not the worst. There's nothing we can do now, I'm afraid."

"Well you could always send the clean up team back?" Q requests. At this, M finally looks up. He looks witheringly at Q.

"Shockingly Q, there are more important things going on at MI6 than retrieving the mind-boggling technology that is a very small radio."

"But sir, I feel like it might have some sentimental value to Bond."

"Q, nothing has sentimental value to Bond." Mallory says. He then realises something and smiles.

"Hold on Q, does this have some sentimental value to you?" Mallory laughs to himself under his breath.

"Umm...well..." Q splutters. Mallory laughs again.

"Well..."

If you want it back, you'll have to get it yourself. Q wasn't needed for the next couple of days, and M paid for his transport to the smouldering ruins of Skyfall. So, at just after six in the morning, Q arrived by taxi in the cold and windy Scottish highlands. He looked out at the charred black wreckage of the house that James Bond grew up in. He harrumphed and crossed his arms, shivering from the cold already. He wasn't a field agent. In fact, he was the furthest thing from a field agent MI6 had, the more time he spent sat in front of a computer the better. But here he was, wandering around the wreckage of where 48 hours ago such chaos, bloodshed and panic was taking place. This was practically an alien planet to Q.

He quickly realised this would be an insurmountable task. Rocks and parts of the house lay in a huge heap, and somewhere amongst them, or the surrounding fields, was a radio the size of a thumbnail. Q had to find it. Then again, he could always go home. But he didn't want to. He had to admit to Mallory that he did have a slight soft spot for his gadgets. He had to love something, and living in the world of technology, it only seemed natural he'd develop an affection for the things he created. His first gadget used in active duty was something that Q wanted to hold on to. He reasoned with himself that this was okay, as it wasn't like he was going to get it framed or anything. Probably.

Old painting. Burnt chair. Planks of wood. All slowly and meticulously pulled from the pile of wreckage and thrown into another pile. This was mustering all the feeble upper body strength that Q had. He heaved and huffed as he pulled items from the pile, examining them carefully for his beloved radio. Nope. Nothing. Q temporarily gave up, sitting down suddenly on a rock and looking out at the grey, dull Scottish sky. He was cold and bored and miserable. Q was evidently not meant to be out in the field.

"DON'T. MOVE."

The sound of a thick, Eastern-European accent cut through the cold air. It was fierce, and angry, and pained. Q looked with his peripheral vision. Standing behind him was a man, in a guerrilla-militia outfit, covered in dried blood, pointing a gun at the back of Q's head.

Q's day had just gotten significantly worse. First he had to walk around in the miserable Scottish highlands, now he was probably going to be shot in the head. Q instantly panicked.

"Oh God, Oh God, okay, calm down, I don't want to hurt you, I don't even have a gun. Shit, I shouldn't have said that. Shit shit shit. What the fuck do I-"

"SHUT UP". Even as he was about to be murdered, Q still spoke too much. "STAND UP, FUCKER. YOU'LL PAY FOR WHAT YOUR FRIENDS DID." The man barked. Q slowly stood up, hands behind his head.

"They aren't my friends, honestly. Most of them don't even like me." Q said, self-deprecatingly.

"Turn around." The man said. Q turned to face him. "Look at you, you're pathetic. Killing you, it almost isn't worth my bullet." He said, smirking. "But it'll have to do, until I can get Bond..."

Even in his final moments Q wasn't taken seriously. This almost disappointed him more than the thought of his brains splattered over the Scottish highlands.

"Two days. Two days I've been in hiding, waiting to take my revenge. Now, I'm going to blow your brains out, then I'll take down James Bond, to avenge Silva. Time to die, motherf-ARGH!" the henchman yelled. He suddenly clutched his side, revealing where he had evidently been shot or stabbed or something. Blood flowed out of his wound. The henchman stumbled back, grabbing his ribs. Then Q did something that would be unbelievable to anyone who has ever met him. Instinctively, he charged at the wounded man. He tackled him to the ground. His shoulder slammed into the man's wounded ribs and he cried out in pain as he fell backwards. It was then that the small plank of wood in the pile of wreckage, with a big nail sticking out of it, came into play.

Splat. The back of the henchman's head was impaled. The nail went straight through to the brain. The sound was disgusting. Q was now lying on top of a very, very dead man. Q didn't notice this straight away. Only when he noticed the man wasn't fighting back did he stop to feel the blood on his face. He stood up and was instantly sick. For a long time. When he had finally finished, he stood, frozen to the spot, staring at the corpse. He looked up, and lying next to the man's head, was the mind-bogglingly technology that is a very small radio. He bent down and picked it up. It too, was covered in blood.

He suddenly realised why nothing was sentimental to Bond.


End file.
